


headed for the open door (tell me what you're waiting for)

by coastcitytourism



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Celebratory Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, yeah thats basically it lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 16:50:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21479662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coastcitytourism/pseuds/coastcitytourism
Summary: Pierre and Charles celebrate.
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 11
Kudos: 62





	headed for the open door (tell me what you're waiting for)

**Author's Note:**

> holy shit you guys i cried when pierre crossed that fucking line in P2...here i am, a stupid hopeful pierre fan who has been writing fictional redemption arcs (and actually a hypothetical podium in the last two races THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED!!) for MONTHS and what did this man do? HE WENT AND DID IT!  
i know this is not exceedingly well written, I don't usually write sex, and I've been having a bit of...writer's remorse? looking at my own work lately, really displeased with it all but....this weekend just gave me so many EMOTIONS i had to share my lil stupid joyous fiction. fuck i love pierre gasly  
also, once again, fiction disclaimer: this is a work of FICTION it doesn't reflect or portray real life in any way, nor is it meant to disrespect anyone. please keep it on here and don't put it elsewhere without my permission, thanks <3  
Title is from "we come running" by youngblood hawke

Drunk is too wrong of a word. Tipsy, even, seems to imply Pierre is more under the influence of alcohol than he truly. He's maybe a little bit buzzed, that's fair to say after buying and sharing a round or two for his mechanics at the team's celebratory dinner, but most of the airy giddness flowing through his veins is from earlier in the day, the race, the podium. He thinks he probably looks kind of stupid, grinning to nobody in particular and fumbling through his wallet for his room key, but can't muster any part of himself to care. Pierre's entire body feels pleasantly warm, like he's vibrating with energy right under the surface of his skin- a feeling he's sure will take more than a single night to wear off. Fuck, he thinks for the umpteenth time, I finally fucking did it.

The door to the hotel room finally opens with a click, and Pierre's inside, and before he's capable of even pulling his jacket off, there's a warm body pressed into his, kissing him with a violent sort of passion.

"Pierre," Charles breathes, wrapping an arms around the Frenchman's waist and sliding a hand up under his jacket and shirt to caress the warm skin right above his spine. They're both smiling stupid, happy grins- Pierre's especially so broad and joyful that Charles is sure his boyfriend could replace the sun. 

"Charles," Pierre whispers back, a cheeky lilt to his voice. He reaches up to tangle his hands in Charles hair, playing with the caramel brown strands between his fingers- and then using those same strands for a bit of leverage as he tips Charles's mouth back down to reach his own, sliding his own tongue again the younger's and shivering at the tiny moan that escapes Charles's throat.

"Fuck," the Monegasque whispers when they finally pull apart, eyes shining and Pierre leans forward to huff a laugh against his neck. "Fuck, Pierre, you are...incredible," he mumbles, gently pushing them both back to the bed until Pierre's thighs catch the edge and he flops back against it with a graceless _oof_. Charles does not waste a second- before he's even completely sure what his brain is doing, he's on top of Pierre, straddling the Frenchman and sliding his hands under his shirt.

"I love you," he whispers like he's afraid that if he says it any louder it'll escape to someone else- but Pierre just smiles up at him lazily once again, tugging Charles down to connect their lips gently this time.

"I mean, considering where I am," Pierre laughs, squeezes Charles neck softly, "I'd hope so." Pierre finishes, and Charles rolls his eyes, thinks if he wasn't so whipped he'd elbow Pierre in the balls right now.

But he doesn't- instead reaching down to fumble with the button of Pierre's jeans, sliding his fingers down lower and lower until-

"Ah-" Pierre gasps as Charles gets a hand into his boxer briefs and around his dick, "Lo-love you...too," he half moans, squinting until his eyes are fully shut. Charles smirks, that smartass, and leans down for a kiss- and when he frees his hand from Pierre's pants, he soaks up the tiny whimper the Frenchman lets out.

"So proud of you. Second place in a Toro Rosso, holy shit. So fucking proud," he mumbles into Pierre's flushed lips, which stretch thin as he smiles against Charles's own. And Charles is- he's never been prouder, in fact, especially when he takes in all of Pierre under him, looking happier and better than ever before. It's hard for Charles to believe that this Pierre- confident, cheeky, joyous Pierre, the one Charles fell in love with first- is the same person he watched scrape rock bottom only a few short months prior. Hell of a redemption arc, he thinks, but then Pierre's tongue is in his mouth and all his brain seems to be capable of providing him is _PierrePierrePierre_.

"Yeah?" Pierre laughs breathlessly, twisting the hair at Charles nape between his fingers, "Pretty proud of myself, too."

"Oh, don't get cocky now, Gasly," Charles huffs in return, softly nipping a bruise onto the older man's neck, letting the vibrations of Pierre's laughter tickle his lips.

"Just like you after Monza," he quips back, and smirks when Charles gives him a playfully pointed look.

"Yeah, and remember how we celebrated after Monza?" Charles questions, finally deciding he's had enough of Pierre's jacket, helping him shrug it off and then sliding the Frenchman's shirt up until his tan abdomen is exposed to the cool hotel room air.

"Could never forget," Pierre adds quietly, innocently, but his pupils are dilated well into crystal blue irises in a decidedly not innocent way.

"Yeah?" Charles murmurs, kissing a line down Pierre's sternum gently, slowly, making the older man squirm, "What do you want me to do, Pierre?"

It's hot, Pierre thinks, the way Charles trusts him like this- and he trusts Charles just the same. It's nothing like the racetrack, the way they trade control over each other so blindly- but their relationship always remained separate from the track. Pierre reaches for Charles's face, cups it in one hand and strokes the pad of his thumb gently against a pointed cheekbone- a simple display of tenderness in the swirl of other debauchery.

"Charles," he whispers, eyes half lidded, voice sounding a bit ragged already, "You know what I want you to do."

"Jesus Pierre, you're so fucking- that's so fucking hot," Charles gasps, biting his lower lip so hard he thinks it could draw blood, "Okay. Okay, whatever you want, babe. _Tout por toi_," he mumbles, sliding Pierre's jeans down over his ankles and internally appreciating the assist when Pierre helpfully kicks them the rest of the way off. They land in a heap somewhere beyond the bed- neither particularly cares.

Next to go are Pierre's boxers- which Charles pulls down long legs with a practiced sort of grace. Pierre bites back a moan when the air hits him- but he can't quite hold it in when Charles licks a stripe all the way up his inner thigh, tongue leaving Pierre's body right before it touches his dick.

"Fuck," Pierre manages, drawing out the syllable. His fingers grasp for the sheets, desperately taking in fistfuls of the thousand thread counts. Charles only looks up, smirks, and the drops his head right back down to lick another matching stripe up the bottom of Pierre's dick.

"_Merde_," Pierre whimpers as Charles teeth scrape against the sensitive skin on the bottom of his cock, "_Se sent incroy- incroyable_," Pierre barely manages before the entire length of is dick is in Charles mouth.

That's certainly one of the perks of having a good weekend that Pierre looks forward to the most- Charles's godlike ability to reduce him to a stuttering, gasping mess. Pierre thinks that it's almost scary how good Charles is at sucking dick, but he's never been one to turn down a blowjob from his boyfriend- especially not after a weekend like this.

The moan that escapes the Frenchman's lips when Charles hollows his cheeks is borderline embarrassing, especially when he's just barely in control, head thrown gracelessly into the soft pillows behind him- but Charles doesn't seem to mind, smiling around Pierre and continuing his devilish rhythm.

Pierre can feel himself nearing a cliff's edge, pleasure pooling deep within his abdomen, when Charles lets Pierre's dick out of his mouth with a cartoonish pop. In what seems like less than a second later, Charles face is right back near Pierre's own, and he presses a chaste kiss to the latter's lips, taking in the beautiful sight of his boyfriend so prone and fucked out. 

"Fucking...fucking tease," Pierre mumbles, dragging Charles down, and he smiles, eyes twinkling with mirth, wrapping his hand around Pierre's cock once more.

"_Désolé, mon amour. Tu es si belle,_" Charles says, apology only half serious. He connects their lips hastily, letting Pierre gasp into his mouth and enjoying every single second of it, especially when he quietly urges the Frenchman to come for him and Pierre complies with a rather theatric moan.

"God," Pierre barely mumbles, words slightly slurred as he flops back against the bed. "That was-"

"Incredible? Amazing?" Charles supplies helpfully, ignoring the eye roll Pierre gives him in return, "Now, um, if you could-"

Pierre gestures down to the bulge in Charles's joggers, crooked smirk looking a bit loopy after his orgasm. "You want some help with that?"

Charles nods quickly- maybe a bit too desperately, but if it was, Pierre doesn't seem to care, instead making quick work of pushing Charles pants and underwear down to his ankles in one fell swoop. If Charles's talent is blowjobs, Pierre's are handjobs- Charles thinks Pierre's fingers must be magical, the way they can reduce him to shambles with barely a touch.

He's already so turned on, so far in his own pleasure that he only lasts a few strokes before he's coming into Pierre's hand, quietly gasping the Frenchman's name.

"Better?" Pierre grins, haphazardly wiping his hand in the loose sheet under them and then resuming his position laid out on the soft pillows. Charles nods, stretching out next to Pierre and gently cradling the side of Pierre's face that's not pressed into a pillow.

"You know, I am so proud of you though. You are amazing. You fucking deserved today, and so much more. It was only a matter of time..."

"Yeah, it feels so incredible. Doesn't even feel real yet," he smiles, leaning into Charles touch, trademark smile creeping its way back onto his face. "Thank you for being there for me, for everything," he sighs, throwing an arm over Charles's waist to tug him closer.

"I was always going to be there, even if you went full Nico Hulkenberg. But we all knew it was only a matter of time before we got to see you up there, Pierre. You deserve every single moment of this. All of it," Charles mumbles, realizing he's probably rambling a bit, but he gets silenced quickly when Pierre's lips are being gently pressed into his own.

Tangling a leg in Charles's own and reducing the space between them as much as possible, it's Pierre who breaks the comfortable silence. "I love you."

"Yeah. I love you, too, Pierre," Charles mutters, hand resting on Pierre's waist. "I love you, too."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading another one of my baby disaster fics :) and as always, thanks for any feedback and kudos.


End file.
